Diary of the Occult, Hunter Conrad - 

Conrad clenched his fists on the leash, pulling the hounds closer to him. There were five hunters and two hounds in his group, a force to be reckoned with in any other circumstance. And yet, in those dark, damp chambers, filled with unnatural statues, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of danger. Thankfully the two faithful dogs reassured him a bit.

Eckhart signaled them to keep moving. He was a tall, burly man, with a long beard and ice-cold eyes. He was a man of few words, orders mostly, which the hunting party followed without question. He had led them to success in many dangerous hunts, after all, and every single one of his scars could be traced back to a trophy on his belt.

The group approached a huge arch and slowly entered a massive room. There was a sickly glow emanating from the stone in this place, highlighting the horrid shapes of crooked walls, pedestals with gold idols on them, and, at the center of the chamber, a dusty stone slab, covered in unsettling symbols, laying upon a square platform: an ancient altar.

“We are rich!” whispered Conrad as he and the others rushed towards the golden statuettes.

Eckhart didn’t seem interested in the idols though, he moved straight towards the altar, but as he reached the stone slab he saw something and his eyes narrowed. 

He signaled the party to quiet down. Everybody froze in an instant. On the other side of the altar, a body rested against the stone, recently dead. His neck was torn apart.

Then, the hounds began barking. Conrad pulled their leash, his eyes darted around in the dark. A sound started echoing from distant corridors. A droning sound, like a remote fluttering. 

One of the hunters dropped to his knees with his ear on the ground while the others prepared their weapons and swiftly set up snares, like a well-oiled machine.

“No steps!” said the hunter rising from the ground.

Eckhart stared at the dead body in front of him searching for any clue about what was about to descend upon them. It was then he noticed that despite the gaping wound,  there was little to no blood on the neck and clothes of the victim.

He turned towards the others as the flapping of countless bat wings drew in closer:

“Vampires!” he shouted.

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